Extended Response
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: Love comes in a lot of forms and Roger is having a spot of trouble distinguishing his feelings for his roommate-turned-boyfriend. Maureen takes it upon herself to test him. Marker. Mark/Roger. Fluff and slash. Oneshot. Happy anniversary Liv! I love you!


**A/N: It's July 27****th****, 2012 and that means only one thing- it's the one year anniversary of the day I met Olivia! My perfect roleplay match and pseudo-life partner who is, by the way, fabulous. Olivia, you are the Mark to my Roger and the Roger to my Mark. You are the Addy to my Toni! You're the most creative, brilliant, funny, determined and outgoing person IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD and I love you to pieces! We made it one year- we can make it two more. I can't wait to meet you in person one day. Also- this is the 69****th**** fic I've published. Just for you. xD Happy anniversary hon!**

Disclaimer: _I should tell you, I should tell you- I should tell you… I don't own RENT._

**Extended Response**

"Are you in love with him?"

Roger blinked, his expression going blank and his calloused fingers slipping on the strings of his acoustic. Slowly, slowly, he sat up and twisted around to survey Maureen over the arm of the couch, her arms folded as she regarded him in amusement.

"… What?" Obviously he had missed something important, because prior to this he and Maureen had had a silent agreement, or so it had appeared. Peaceful coexistence via a policy of silence.

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

"Do. You. Love him?" She casually wandered closer, tilting her head. His eye twitched. He didn't like the look she was giving him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Roger Davis was not known for his patience, and especially not when it came to Mark's harpy of an ex. He wrinkled his nose, as if daring her to approach him, which she apparently took as a challenge- before he knew it she had plopped down on the couch beside him, knees folded under her as she regarded him coolly.

"Mark. I need to know, so I can make sure you don't go breaking his heart."

His mother could probably hear him rolling his eyes all the way in Scarsdale.

"_You,_ of _all_ people, think _you_ have a right-?"

"Oh, fuck off, Roger, that was a long time ago," she snapped before coughing lightly into her fist and resuming, expression schooled into a bland smile. "- Anyways. I need an answer."

He glared in disgust, bristling- _who the hell was Miss Heartbreaker to meddle with _his _relationship?_- before the question really began to sink in.

_Did _he love Mark?

A wicked grin spread across her face as he faltered, scrambling for words. He was too late- she had already started talking again. "Yes or no, Roggy?"

"Don't call me that," he snapped automatically at her sugary tone, mouth twisting into a scowl, but his mind was whirring. Mark…

They'd only been together for one goddamn month! There should be a _law _against asking that question before- before at _least_ three!

"Clock is ticking," she sing-songed, that infuriating smile still playing on her lips. His frown deepened, fingers clenching around the neck of his guitar, struggling to keep his, in his point of view, fully justified anger under control.

"… I don't know. Maybe," he finally muttered, averting his eyes to stare broodingly at out at the fire escape if only to avoid her triumphant eyes. The brunette snorted and there was a crinkling sound before he suddenly found a thin stack of folded-up papers shoved into his lap.

"What the fuck is this?" He picked them up, squinting at the small font, but she was already up and flouncing towards the door.

"Have it back to me by Friday night and I'll see what I can do."

The metal door slammed shut behind her with a clang, leaving Roger once again alone in the silent, dusty loft. Baffled and annoyed- two emotions that seemed to go hand in hand whenever he confronted his best friend's ex-lover- he stared down at the neat print in the light slanting through the skylight, flushing deeply.

_What was the first thing you thought when you met Marky?_

What the hell kind of question was that? That was none of her damn business! As he skimmed the page and flipped to the next, it became increasingly obvious that Maureen had put an awful lot of time and effort into this little joke.

Unless it wasn't a joke…

Roger frowned, racking his brain. Maureen _had _been awfully protective of Mark since their breakup. Sure, she had treated him like shit while they were dating; that was just a given. Maureen's relationships were all destined to crash and burn, and Roger was surprised that Joanne was still sane after a year and a half married to that woman. He had to give her props for patience… Still, she liked to get on his nerves, and it was just as likely that she was fucking with him as it was that she really wanted to protect poor little Mark Cohen's virtue.

Still… His fingers were itching to write down his responses. Some of the questions were evoking emotional word vomit the likes of which he hadn't experienced for years. Since April- since _heroin._ And goddamn if he wasn't going to put every bit of much-needed inspiration to use.

Seemingly of its own volition his hand reached to the coffee table and patted around for a pen, finally finding one in a mess of crumpled papers, sad attempts at writing down the elusive lyrics floating around in his head. He snatched it up and pinned the questionnaire to the arm of the couch, figuring it was probably hard enough to use as a flat surface, and began scribbling.

Dork. He was an absolute DORK. We met in eighth grade when my mom and I moved to Scarsdale and he was in my English class. He was the only person I'd ever met with an ego to match mine. Of course I thought he was obnoxious. The only reason I befriended him in the first place is because he let me cheat off of him. Not that he doesn't know that.

Roger paused, scowling at the paper as he realized that somehow, somewhen Mark had lost that ego that used to be so prominent. He wondered where it had gone and if, perhaps, he could restore it if he really tried.

If anyone needed some extra self-confidence it was Mark Cohen.

The next question made him choke. _What was the first sexual fantasy you had about Mark?_

Oh God… Was he really planning on being honest on this whole ridiculous questionnaire? But then again, how often did he have an opportunity to disturb Maureen? Deciding to go for it he smirked to himself and began jotting down his memory…

He was fourteen and I was fifteen. I was going through a minor sexuality crisis and all I could jerk off to was dick. Mostly his. I used to imagine he asked me for "lessons" and I-

"Honey, I'm home," came the filmmaker's sarcastic voice, followed by the familiar grating metallic sound of the door sliding shut. Roger scrambled to hide the pages, crumpling them and shoving them into his jacket pocket, internally wincing as his heart hammered. Mark, oblivious, strode inside and set his camera down on the table, sighing as he flopped onto the couch beside his boyfriend. "Hey."

Was it clichéd if Roger melted a little bit at the crooked smile his roommate gave him just then?

Probably…

Damn Maureen for putting things into his head.

"How's your day been, mopey?" Mark reaches up to fix his hair, teasing, and Roger leaned into his hands. He can't help it; he loves Mark's little touches, his ability to make him feel special, wanted, with just a brush of his fingertips. It's something he was able to do long before April and before Mimi, before he had ever even considered him as anything other than his best friend.

"Maureen bugged the shit out of me," he muttered immediately, closing his eyes and following Mark's hands as he drew them away. "I don't know how you dated her for two years, Mark, I can't even handle her for two minutes."

"Oh, stop it. She's not that bad." Roger can tell from the snicker in his boyfriend's voice that he's amused nevertheless. "What'd she push on you today? Veganism? She's been trying to get me to give up bacon-"

"Don't listen to her!" Horrified, Roger's green eyes snapped open to stare at him. "Bacon is _sacred. _Bacon is the best thing in the world-"

"I'm technically not even supposed to eat it as it is, Roger. Jewish, remember?" Mark arched his eyebrow the way that Roger had never been able to do, which usually just made him grumble but right now only endeared him.

God, what was _wrong_ with him? Was he really going that soft? He was dating a man, sure, but that didn't mean he had to be a _fag_ about it.

Roger's inner thoughts were a lot more amusing than most people gave him credit for.

"I don't care, man. Bacon is totally worth eternal damnation. It's _bacon_," he insisted, shaking his head incredulously.

"Just like having vigorous gay sex with my roommate is worth eternal damnation?" Mark tried and failed to stifle a grin, leaning closer, pressing their foreheads together. Roger's lips curled up into a catlike smirk, tilting his head and speaking close enough that their lips brush with each word.

"Roommate _and_ boyfriend," he reminded him, kissing him soundly, hand sliding up to cup his jaw while the other rested on Mark's skinny hips.

That was quite enough talking for the rest of the afternoon.

_MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR_

Several hours later, when Mark was curled into his chest mumbling nonsensical words under his breath in his sleep, Roger remembers the papers.

Carefully, ever so gently, he disentangles himself and reaches into his pocket, drawing out the now crinkled sheets. Mark makes a disgruntled noise but then curls into a tighter ball, fast asleep. The sun is setting and Roger doesn't bother waking him up; besides, he'd much rather Mark didn't know about this little "test" Maureen had given him. Something about it seemed private, a challenge just for him, and goddammit but Maureen wasn't going to win this.

He snatched his pen off of the coffee table again and wandered into the kitchen, biting the cap as he squinted at the words in the orange light. Maureen hadn't skipped over anything. Two of the pages dealt completely with knowledge of Mark's favorite things- from the brand and flavor toothpaste he used to the width of the stripe on his favorite sweater- and Roger was almost embarrassed to say that he knew all of the answers without even having to cheat.

Just to be sure, though, he did manage to dig out a ruler from the box in Mark's closet labeled "College Shit" and verify his answer. At which point, of course, the smaller man yawned- Roger froze, emanating guilt and humiliation at being caught, but the filmmaker simply buried his face in his arms and curled into a tighter ball and he exhaled in relief.

How would he have explained that, exactly? _"Oh, hey, Mark, just measuring your clothing like the creepy stalker that I am." _Yeah, no. For the first time since his poorly concealed drug addiction, Roger needed to be stealthy. Huffing, he sat as quietly as possible at the kitchen table and tapped his pen restlessly on the table.

_How many times have you kissed Mark and where?_

Roger paused, glaring incredulously at the wrinkled paper. What? Maureen was crazy if she thought that he-

Actually…

Feeling more and more like one of those obsessive fans of his, Roger did some quick internal calculations and jotted them down, nervous. If Mark found this now he would _know_ that he had a problem… Maureen had better not be pulling his leg.

Nine hundred and fourteen times total. He likes it when I kiss his neck… Mostly on the mouth though. Sometimes below the waist… if you catch my drift.

She was going to get a real kick out of that. In order to avoid feeling like a complete and total idiot, Roger flipped the page over and began scanning the next one when he heard the soft sounds of Mark sitting up and stretching awake. Cursing under his breath he hastily folded the sheets again, a little more carefully to avoid smudging the ink, and glanced over at his bleary boyfriend on the couch.

Mark rolled his shoulders and pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling crookedly in Roger's direction in that sincere way that Roger loved so much. (and there's that word again: _love_, and he wonders where Maureen gets these notions) "How long was I out?"

A quick glance out the window would probably have told him, or down to the watch that miraculously hasn't been stolen from his wrist yet, but Roger has this theory that Mark just likes his voice. "Not very long. An hour or two. You needed it. Why so tired, Cohen?" he teased, smirking.

"You know perfectly well why I'm so tired, Davis," the paler man shoots back drily, standing slowly and cracking his back. "Ahh… Sore."

"Want me to make it better?" Roger is already half out of his seat, always itching to get his hands on his roommate-turned-lover, and Mark actually has the nerve to laugh at him for it, nodding and beckoning him closer. He practically purred as Roger circled around him, hands rubbing up and down his back. Neither of them questioned when their relationship had become quite so physical, because in retrospect it had always been this way. Mark touched Roger and Roger touched Mark wherever and however they wanted, as casual as can be, and no one had commented much on it even long before they were together. The guitarist rubbed his calloused fingers skillfully up his lover's back, satisfied with the pleased mewls falling from Mark's lips.

"Mmmm… Where did you say you learned to give massages, again?" he murmured, sounding almost mesmerized by the experience. Roger chuckled under his breath.

"Self-taught," he teased, thumbs rubbing up just right under his shoulder blades to make him purr and arch his back like a cat. For Roger, seeing Mark so loose and himself was worth weeks of kneading a pillow for practice, wanting desperately to dazzle his boyfriend with his tactile skill.

"Wanna teach me…?" He twisted around to give Roger that mischievous look that told him, without exception, that he was going to end up tied to the headboard tonight. He swallowed hard, feeling the blood war in his veins- up, or down?- and tipped his chin up with his fingers.

"Maybe later…"

_MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR_

As it turned out it wasn't much later, and Roger laid with his arm curled loosely around his naked lover staring at the ceiling three hours later, breathing deeply and slowly as he thought.

The sex wasn't what was bothering him, of course it wasn't. The sex was great. Mark was great. He had to wonder how he had gone so long without a girlfriend- but judging by the way he screamed when Roger was inside him, he had a fair idea that it wasn't the girl's fault.

No, it wasn't the sex. It was the pillow talk. It was the "I love you." and the "I love you, too." in affectionate tones, the noses rubbed together, the deep ache he felt in his chest, not necessarily unpleasant, every time he saw him like this. So unraveled and defenseless and utterly perfect.

So _Mark_.

It was one of those things that neither of them was willing to elaborate on, the kind of thing that balanced perfectly on the point of a knife- discuss it and everything could topple, everything they'd built together this past month and all the years beforehand spent constructing and cementing the friendship that was the very foundation of this relationship. "I love you" became one of those things they heard and smiled to, wondered about- _does he mean it the same way? What does he mean? God, I love him, too-_ and never, ever talked about.

Roger wanted so badly to make sure. He needed Mark to love him, just as much as he loved him because he was _Roger_ and he had fallen fast and hard as usual, and Mark was the only person who could validate him when he got like this.

Perhaps, he thought, it had been a bad idea to start fucking his go-to guy and confidant, but there was no use crying over spilt milk. (Or cum, if he really thought about it.)

Here in the dark with Mark's slow, even breaths hot on his neck and his arms curled around him in a no-nonsense snuggle grip, refusing to let him go, it was easy to believe that Mark might feel the same way. Hell, wasn't he a known closet romantic? Maybe Roger was just being insecure. It wouldn't be the first time.,,

Every touch, every whisper and look and feeling felt so intimate in this relationship. It had never been quite like this before, as much as he had loved Mimi and April before her, as much as he had enjoyed sex with other girls before them. Nothing had ever been this special to him. It could be that he was going soft and sappy like he so often had accused Mark of being, or it could just be that it was Mark.

He had to admit that it was much more likely the latter.

The more he thought about it the more his fingers itched for a pen to write all of this down, maybe finish those stupid sheets of Maureen's. Who knew- maybe there was something to them, and if he followed her rules he might even get the answers that he was so desperate for? Would she really be willing to help him like that, though, unbidden?

Maybe Mark had asked her to… the thought made him swallow hard against the lump rising in his throat.

Gahhh… Emotions. Roger had never managed them very well. Mark shifted in his arms as he tightened his grip and he laid his head back down, chin resting on the filmmaker's blonde head. All thoughts of Maureen's paper flew from his mind, listening to the small, content noises that his lover made against his neck.

He could always do it tomorrow, when Mark wasn't pressed up against him in the best way, secure in his arms and more relaxed than he ever was when he was awake. There was plenty of time left even in his limited lifespan to contemplate.

Sighing, the guitarist burrowed his face in the fine strawberry strands and didn't hesitate to drift to sleep, confident that the morning would shed some light.

_MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR_

Eight a.m. was earlier than Roger had ever voluntarily gotten out of bed before, but if Mark was leaving then he needed to get his ass up, too, and get to work.

He saw his boyfriend off with a quick kiss that turned into a somewhat more extended make out session on the couch, throughout which Mark squirmed and halfheartedly protested- _"Roger I have to- ahh… Oh god that's- Roger! I need to go! I'm going to be la-aaaate, oh my God, oh my- there…" "Just shut up and enjoy the ride, Cohen."- _and waited for the door to clang shut before locating the now bedraggled sheets of paper that he had shoved into his jacket pocket the night before.

Alright… time to get serious. He wanted to show Mark that he loved him, but if he couldn't do that, if it was too soon for _that_ (even he was still slightly alarmed if he allowed himself to really think about it) then he would just have to prove it to Maureen. It was the next best thing.

There were two sheets left, both of them sporting few questions and many lines, and Roger groaned internally at all of the writing that he was going to have to do. His eyes scanned the questions, lip curling in dismay as he plopped down at the kitchen table.

_Describe Mark. _read the first one.

_Describe your relationship with Mark._ read the second.

And finally, _Describe the feeling that you get when you're with Mark._

Well that didn't narrow anything down… Mark was a lot of things, and so was their relationship, and- Roger had to force himself to calm down before he worked himself up, squaring his jaw and taking the questions one at a time, tapping the pen furiously on the table not seeming to mind if ink was splattering everywhere from the chewed end, which seemed to have finally burst. It was early. He just needed to think about it… give himself some time…

How on earth was he supposed to describe _Mark_? Mark was so… Mark was…

His pen moved in slow, uncertain loops, not at all like his usual spiky handwriting because he really, desperately wanted to make sure that he got this right on the first try.

Mark. He's perfect. He's the kind of geek that you actually want to hang out with. He's sexy even though he doesn't think he is. He's shy but it's sorta cute. He's creative. He's brilliant. He's sweet as FUCK. He's _mine._ He needs me like I need him. He'd do anything to help his friends, or anyone really. He's just so… perfect. I guess that's how I would describe him. Perfect.

Sighing, he slumped his shoulders in relief as he finished and moved down to the second question. Now that he had gotten his words flowing this shouldn't be so hard. Smiling to himself, chest tight with more of those emotions he had been doing so much to keep at bay lately, he rolled his shoulders and began furiously writing again.

If there was one thing that he knew well, it was his relationship with Mark. Unless you counted Musetta's Waltz- but he mostly played that while he waited for inspiration to strike. The fact that it annoyed the shit out of Mark was just a plus.

Anyways.

We're the gayest of all the gay couples in Alphabet City. I don't even care. I don't care what people say about it, I don't care what they think. I couldn't care fucking less. We care about each other and we have AWESOME sex and you know what? That's all I need. That's all anyone should need. Or care about. I don't usually take it well when people call me a fag but… But for Mark, I'll be a faggot all day long. In capital letters. I'd scream it off the roof. If he asked me to, anyways… Or maybe if I was drunk enough.

Smirking at the page he set his pen down, and although his cheeks were probably pink he was proud of himself. How many times had he really, truly admitted that he was gay, anyways? Well, maybe not gay but something like it. Or maybe not gay at all. It was Mark, Mark was always the exception- but he was getting off track again.

Either way, he was glad that he could honestly say that he chose Mark over his reputation. Whatever reputation he might have left was probably in the shitter, anyways, but that wasn't the point.

If he was going to be a washed up rock star then he might as well take this dive, too.

When he came upon the third and final question, Roger faltered. A million different explanations crowded at the forefront of his mind- his skull threatened to explode with the force of them, all bombarding him at once, and he rubbed his temples furiously. Fuck. He couldn't remember one emotion Mark _hadn't _elicited from him at some point, nor could he name most of them anyways. Shaking his head, he heaved himself to his feet and went to go make himself a pot of coffee.

Caffeine was the answer to most of his problems- unless, of course, the answer was Mark.

_MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR_

Several hours of tugging his hair, growling and kicking miscellaneous objects around the loft later, Roger had to admit defeat. He stowed the papers carefully away under his mattress- how very original of him- and fell backwards onto the bed, arms folded behind his head. It really looked as though Maureen was going to win this one, and he had no idea why.

Why couldn't he just write it down? That warm feeling… that overwhelming, choking feeling of affection that welled up in him every time he saw his roommate. The way his heart squeezed, the way his fingers and toes began tingling, the way his veins constricted and how he felt hot all over, stumbling over his words…

Mark would be home soon and tomorrow was Friday. There was no way that he was going to get this done, and back to Maureen, before then. So much for her help. Maybe… Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't love Mark after all. If he couldn't even finish this stupid questionnaire…

The very thought made him scowl, and to ward off the looming depression he sat up to grab his guitar. At least he could maybe write a song, do something productive to keep his mind off of it. Mark hated when he was brooding-

As he began to strum his fingers went slack, eyes widening. Words were swirling around his head, mistaken for lyrics- a song that he had been composing for over a month now, one that he'd been tirelessly working on day and night, asleep and awake, and all of a sudden he began to understand them. _Well, fuck!_

Nearly flinging his guitar off of his lap, Roger grabbed the sheets from under the mattress and searched frantically for a pen, afraid that if he waited too long the words would slip through the cracks in his mind again and he'd never get them back. Fifteen seconds later, nose splattered with ink from the furious speed of his writing, he stowed the sheets carelessly away again and chucked the pen across the room, feeling sufficiently drained. His head hit the pillow, a smile creeping over his features, and fell almost instantly asleep.

Maureen was going to be so fucking dumbstruck when he gave them to her tomorrow…

At least he knew now. At least one thing was clear.

He'd fallen fast, deeply, desperately in love with his best friend, Mark Cohen, and no one on the face of the Earth could dispute it now.

_MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR_

When Mark returned home it was to an unusual silence settled over the loft like a blanket. He set his camera down on the coffee table slowly, looking around in confusion- Roger didn't leave a whole lot without him, and if he did he would have left a note. Wouldn't he? If he didn't, Mark decided, he was going to be in big trouble. Feeling distinctly like a disgruntled girlfriend, and not liking the feeling one bit, the filmmaker stalked down the hall to continue his search.

"Roger? Roger, are you home? I swear to God, Roger-" He paused, glancing into their room and sure enough there was his songwriter conked out on the bed, drool dribbling down the side of his face, mouth wide open as he snored. He bit his lip to stifle a smile and a sigh of relief.

Of course Roger hadn't gone anywhere. He was just taking a nap… that wasn't too unusual, really. Mark really needed to stop worrying so much.

He lifted his satchel strap over his head and set it down carefully next to the door, padding in and kicking off his shoes, ready to climb up into bed and give Roger a cuddle partner when he spotted it. Two corners of paper peeking out from under the mattress, looking as though they had been hastily mashed in there last minute, as though they were meant to be hidden…

He chewed his lip, feeling slightly guilty just for considering investigating. _Curiosity killed the cat, Mark._ What if they were pages from Roger's journal, song lyrics not yet meant to be read? God only knew how furious Roger would be if he woke up and found Mark reading his private thoughts.

Still… It was tempting…

Gently, gently, Mark crouched down beside the bed and pushed back the nagging voice in the back of his mind that kept telling him that this was immoral, illogical, fingers closing around the edges of the paper and tugging. He flinched automatically, expecting to hear a rip or a crunch to indicate that he'd done something wrong, but none came- the paper's slid out smoothly and easily and he hardly had time to marvel at his own luck before his eyes were eagerly scanning the words in Roger's unmistakable sloppy scrawl.

_Dork?_ What the- he glanced up a line and felt his eyebrows shooting into his hair. Was that- _Maureen's_ handwriting?

Since when did the two of them get along, anyways? And what had she put him up to? He had a sinking feeling about this…

But it couldn't hurt to read some more…

The more that he read, the less puzzled his expression became. Slowly, a grin rose to his lips to eclipse his anxiety, broader by the moment, broader still by the word.

Was Roger trying to tell him something?

_MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR_

It was a monumentally stupid idea to take a nap in the middle of the day. Roger decided this the moment that he woke up, the loft dark and silent around him. Mark wasn't in his customary position wrapped around him and he had a moment of panic, wondering whether Mark had come home at all, before a pale finger reached out to poke him in the forehead as he groggily sat up.

"Hey there sleepyhead," Mark murmured, a smile in his voice. Roger furrowed his eyebrows, still blinking away sleep. His memories were foggy- he could remember, for example, that morning and the coffee and the crash later, but it was difficult to remember the details in between. Perhaps he should try again when he was more awake.

"Hey yourself," he grumbled, yawning into his fist and slowly leaning into him. His fingers felt for Mark's face, trailing up his torso, brushing his navel and his chest, his neck, his ear, until he could cup his jaw in both hands and tilt his head to lean in for a kiss. Mark leaned away.

"So I found something interesting today," he began, wiping the pout clean off of Roger's face. A cold sweat seemed to break out on his forehead, a lance of ice breaking through the sleep haze.

_Oh, fuck. Here it comes. He's going to leave. He's going to break up with me. It's over-_

His mental ramblings were cut short as Mark continued, apparently oblivious to his private panic party. "I kind of got the feeling that you wanted to get something off of your chest…" He trailed off, a note of uncertain anticipation lingering in the air. In the darkness a pair of blue eyes met his searchingly, fingers twining with his as he pulled him closer, holding their clasped hands between them. It was a moment before Roger's brain functioned well enough to form a few fumbling words.

There was an extended silence before anything coherent became of it, and Mark's smile became slightly strained, prompting Roger to give it his best shot before he gave up and left.

"I- I guess-" he choked out, cursing Maureen as much as he was praising her. Again with the rush of thoughts, of feelings, of adrenaline that he wasn't prepared for. Was this really the best time to be having this conversation? The clock on the nightstand read nine and he had a brief period of doubt, but Mark was looking at him like a puppy who wanted a treat and his mouth ran without him.

"I- Mark… Marky. Can I just- can we talk?" Vulnerable, he swallowed and anxiously awaited his judgment. Somehow he still expected to be slapped in the face, either by Mark or the ghosts of girlfriends past- what if he said he was lying? What would his explanation be? How could he possibly-

Mark smiled, breathtaking, and leaned in to murmur against his lips, "I think I know where this is going." His chuckle, though silent, sent strange vibrations through Roger's lips that made him dizzy. Several sheets of paper fluttered to the ground and, overwhelmed, he pulled Mark into bed with him, right into his lap, and kissed him with a low groan.

"God, I love you-" he babbled, hands groping and touching and squeezing every inch of him that he could reach. Mark whimpered in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"I love you too- Fuck, I really do. I love you…"

_MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR_

Morning brought the memory of those magic words spilling from Mark's lips, a smile similar to that of the Cheshire cat on his face, and a faint, lingering musk from the nights' celebration. Roger couldn't have been more content. He absently stroked Mark's side as they laid together, breathing deeply and appreciating every dust mote that floated along in the bright July sunlight. He was tempted to hum a festive tune to complement his mood, but he was reluctant to break the silence.

Unfortunately for him, it also brought a knock on the door. Several, actually, each of them more maddeningly annoying than the last until finally Roger had to yell, "BUSY. GO HOME."

Who even gave a fuck who it was? They could wait until he was good and ready to be up and dressed. Right now, he just wanted to stay in bed with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend that he loved. His boyfriend that loved _him._

The thought was still a bit of a novelty, and he grinned stupidly to himself for a moment before Maureen's screech sliced through his fleeting bliss.

"Roger! Roger Davis! I need you to give me back those papers now!" she shrieked, pounding on the door with renewed vigor. He winced and wondered if it hadn't been a mistake to alert her that he was even awake.

He considered ignoring her but Mark was beginning to mumble, disgruntled, and he figured that at least one of them should get to enjoy their morning after glow. Sighing in annoyance, the guitarist swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on the nearest pair of ratty blue boxers, snatching the papers off of the floor and stomping to the door.

"Take the damn things!" he growled, opening the door just long enough to shove them at her chest before slamming it again, not even giving the startled brunette time to fire off more of her usual incessant whining. "Go fuck your girlfriend or something!" She stared down at the crumpled, ink-stained sheets in her hands in bemusement. They were all out of order, several of them smeared terribly, but the most important one laid delicately on top, still legible.

I feel like I want to spend the rest of my life with him no matter what happens. I feel like I love him. And I guess I should probably tell him instead of writing it down like some pussy teenaged girl, shouldn't I?

She snorted despite herself, covering her mouth and looking back up at the boy's door with an ear-to-ear grin. The response had been just slightly obnoxious and so thoroughly _Roger_ that she had to laugh, mostly because she would have bet everything she owned that Mark's response when he told him would have been just as exhaustively _Mark._

Well, it wasn't her business now. For once, Maureen thought that it would be best to keep her nose to herself.

_Mission accomplished._


End file.
